


In Cold Blood

by Killjoy013



Series: Cliffhangers [1]
Category: Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Genre: Other, Revenge, Supernatural Elements, hitman - Freeform, mordern setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 14:46:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12368004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Killjoy013/pseuds/Killjoy013
Summary: Jason Dean was a good child until his mom died at the hand of his father. That was his last straw, so he ran away wanting his revenge on the person who killed her. He made himself tougher, stronger and smarter. And he is out for blood, no matter the obstacles or consequences. His father will pay.





	In Cold Blood

The air in the hospital was filled with chemicals as Jason Dean, no more than nine years old, waited for his mom to wake up. His seat was cold and and stiff as he shifted to sit on his hands. His father stumbled out the room, "C'mon, boy." Jason scowled, "What about Mom?" he asked, his voice scratchy from hours of silence.

His dad growled and yanked him up by the arm, ignoring his son's loud protests. "She's dead! And so will you if don't start walking." Bud snapped, throwing him over his shoulder. Jason struggled all the way to the car, where he was dumped in the backseat. His dad lit a cigarette and took off with the loud screech of tires. As the pulled into their newly bought house, Jason kicked the back of his father's seat and sniffed. The man slowly turned and and lunged at the boy in backseat angry. “If you're still crying when I get back, you’ll wish I left you in that hospital to rot, boy!” He spat and swung at his boy, who took the blow with a loud cry of pain. Bud left him there, crying and wailing in the back of the car with the windows up and doors locked. 

Bud Dean limped to the front door, which swung open with a creak. He made his way through the half lived-in house, with moving boxes still in the hallways. Bud opened the door to the bedroom and go to work. He flipped the mattress and ripped it open, and the sound of shuffling cash made the man chuckle darkly. "I can't get rid my own flesh and blood, not while they saw me with him at the hospital." He whispered to the four walls. 

Jason screamed with tears and snot running down his face, kicking windows and doors in the backseat. He sat up and balled up his fingers into a fist. He cried until he couldn't, until his eyes were dry and sobs were let out in choked breaths. Jason roughly wiped his face with his father jacket in the front. Tears still escaped from his eyes, but he was done crying. The car door unlocked and in that spilt second, Jason Dean realized that he would have to live with his father for years on end. Without the soft reassurances of his mother to protect him from his father's beatings.

He grabbed the backpack in the front seat and the jacket and ran. His feet hit the dry ground and Jason Dean was gone, running through alleys and sidestreets. His father wouldn't look for him, he knew that much but he had to get out this town and fast. But he would get his revenge, one day. “Psst. Hey, kid!” jason turned to the young harsh voice coming from behind the dumpster. A kid with a tuff of black hair greeted his vision and he beckoned him to his hiding spot. “My names Jackson, but you can call me Slate, everyone does. Now c’mon, we're gonna be late for supper!” Slate grinned grabbing his hand and pulling him into a hole in the building right next to the dumpster. 

Fourteen years later

“Name?” the receptionist, Mary, said clicking her pen absentmindedly. “Uh, Jackson-Jackson Slate. I’m paying in cash.” the man said wringing his hands together. His coat was deep navy, and his hat covered his black hair. “How long?” she droned, rolling her eyes. “Four days, at least. After that, I don’t know.” Jackson responded , cocking his head to the side and checking his watch. “I don’t have much time.” he mumbled to himself. “Time for what?” Mary asked to which the man snapped up as if he hadn't meant to say that aloud. 

He sighed and tapped his fingers against the counter. “I admit, I have done something reckless. I have made a dangerous person my enemy.“ he chuckled. Mary stopped her clicking and looked up with an eyebrow raised. “But anyways, my room?” he said, looking at his watch. “205.” she answered, dangling the key in front of him. Slate smiled, thanked her and then left.

As he rounded the corner and went to the stairs. Slate quickly climbed them, looking over his shoulder after every flight of stairs. “Oh god.” he groaned as he shoved open the door. The harsh grey lighting of the stairwell and melted into a warm yellow color. “Two-oh-five.“ he repeated under his breath as he searched for his room. 

And there it was, in a cheap gold engraving hanging on his door, 205. He swiped his key and pushed opened his door tired. Slate, not bothering to turn on the light, dropped his backpack and his duffle bag on the floor and flopped on the bed face first. As he was about to roll over, he felt something cool and meal prod him in the back and a click of a tongue and froze. “Sorry for coming in through the window. Dreadful etiquette, I know.” Jason Dean said, shaking his head apologetically. “Hey, Dean. How-how’s it going? Looking well, I-i see.” Jackson said, displaying his hands on the the bed open and empty.

“Shut up. You know what I want.”


End file.
